A Silent Angel
by ronaele nothsur
Summary: This is the story of Marianne, a young dancer in the Opera Populaire's corps de ballet. Lonely and lost, her life is one of emptiness until one man dicerns her rare and wonderful talent.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The soprano's velvety aria soared high above the swell resonating from the orchestra pit. Her face one of angelic beauty and her voice filled the gigantic Opera Populaire with words of passion and loss. Although the posters hung on the exterior walls of the opera house displayed her maiden name, the audience easily perceived that this was not the same Christine Daae who had charmed them so many months ago. Her voice then had been pure and beautiful, and yet her inexperience of life had been palpable. Now however, one could hear that she had lived, really and truly. Her voice, while still retaining its purity, was darker somehow, and conveyed the journey of love, passion and self-discovery that she had endured in the last year. This gala performance to celebrate the re-opening of the ruined opera house, as well as her long-awaited marriage to its patron showed Paris that Christine Daae was now different in far more than name.

From the wings, the dancers watched the prima Donna in reverence. Marianne Parmousse was among them, and her limpid blue eyes filled with tears as Christine's song slowly but surely drew both sadness and joy from so many of her audience.

Marianne had been a member of the Opera Polulaire's ballet since her parents had been killed in a riding accident fourteen months previously and although she loved her work, and tried tirelessly to perfect her performance, she felt very alone. Despite the kindness of most of the company, she was well aware that she was different from the other girls. She was bigger than they, and yet lacked their phenomenal strength. Dancing, although a way of life for Marianne, did not come easily. She had to practise privately for hours after the others has finished, just to meet their standard in performance, and although Mme. Giry, the ballet mistress was essentially very kind, she often spoke words of sharp exasperation to her. She also envied the other girls their beauty and delicacy. Although unusually graceful, even for a ballerina, Marianne was not beautiful. Her face, though elfin and pretty was deemed by most to be marred by a prominent nose, and her hair, while golden and luxuriantly thick, was unfashionable and difficult to tame. Marianne's real ambition was to sing, but she dared not voice this secret dream to anyone, for fear they would laugh at her. Christine Daae was widely renowned as the most beautiful soprano in France, and she knew that no one would want a plump, plain ballet dancer who had never had a singing lesson. What pained her most however, was the fact that she knew that she could sing. Before her parents died, her father had lovingly christened her his 'nightingale' and their small garret in 'La Rue de l'Eglise' had often been filled with her singing. But after that dreadful day, Marianne's talent had seemed to the world to evaporate. She could not sing before anyone. At her parents funeral she had been asked to sing one of the pieces her mother had loved, but when she stepped onto the alter, her voice would not come. As well as killing her parents, the drunken cab driver had destroyed Marianne's hope for happiness.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Thunderous applause filled the Opera house. As Marianne looked on she saw the star's exquisite face fill with triumphant pleasure. As much as she envied Christine, it was impossible to dislike anyone who showed so much kindness and consideration to even the lowliest stage-hand, and who had not allowed such vaulting renown as was now hers to change her. After almost fifteen minutes, filled with clapping, cheering and enraptured shouts for an encore, Christine left the stage. As she passed the dancers she caught Marianne's eye and smiled. Although she knew the dancer but little, and was well aware that her talent was far below the standard of the rest of the troupe, a sympathetic note in her ethereal face struck Christine. The now-primma Donna recognised the look of loneliness and longing in the girl's eyes. She had been used to seeing it every morning in the mirror, and, etched upon her memory forever was the vision of her angel of music's despairing farewell. Yes, by God, Christine saw the poor child's loneliness. The look lasted hardly a second, but in her heart, Marianne felt a glimmer of the warmth which comes from true empathy. In a minute, the singer had been swept into her dressing room.

As the dancers, chorus and stage hands scattered, wishing to enjoy the festivities which were being held in the green-room to celebrate the gala night, Marianne herself began to traipse solitarily away from the stage. As she made her way silently towards the cacophonic sound of voices which escaped the celebratory crowd, she passed a bouquet of roses which had clearly been dropped by Christine as she made her way, laden with flowers, to her private room. Always eager to oblige, Marianne scooped up the beautiful armful, and walked quickly towards the door. As she was about to knock on the gold-brushed panelling she suddenly heard voices from within. She recognised them immediately as those of Christine and her husband, Raoul de Chagney. Not wanting to intrude on a private conversation, Marianne paused, hoping to ascertain whether they would mind interruption. Far from an argument, she heard the deep and quiet voice of the singer filled with joy and gladness, and the viscount's expressing similar emotion.  
"Are you sure my Darling?" asked the patron, with a sense of both urgency and excitement.  
"Perfectly. Oh Raoul, isn't this wonderful. We've only been married for three months, and to add to the great blessing God has sent me in you, he has blessed us with a child."  
"Wonderful! I couldn't be happier! Let us announce it to the company this very night!"  
Marianne quietly placed the bouquet in front of the dressing-room door, and ran towards the green room, her head filled with what she had just heard. The Primma Donna! Pregnant! She slipped silently through the doors, and joined the party, unnoticed and unobtrusive.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Five months passed, and as Christine's belly began to swell with life, and her face to shine with the luminous beauty of a woman with child, Marianne was fading. The hours and hours of late practises were beginning to take their toll, and she was not eating properly, in a vain attempt to change her curvaceous figure to mirror the slender frames of her peers. But nobody noticed. The Opera Populaire had far more important things to deal with. An up and coming young composer, who nobody knew as anything other than 'Taphmon' has sent a new opera to Raoul de Chagney. The Opera, which told a story of lost love and sexual awakening, was quite simply, awe-inspiring in its beauty. The arias written for the heroine, named Lolita, were the opera's most striking aspect. When they were sung by Christine at a rehearsal her clear voice reached her audience like some divine violin, and moved everybody who heard her to tears. It was almost as if they were written for her highly original soprano, which was unusually deep in tone, while able to reach extraordinarily high notes. She was undoubtedly perfect/ for the role. But disaster struck. The first performance was originally scheduled to take place in early May, so that Christine's pregnancy would not show, but problems with the restored chandelier forced the Opera's managers, Firmin and Andre to postpone the performance by three months. #  
"We cannot have a pregnant Lolita!" wailed Andre  
"Andre, please, we MUST have Madame De Chagney. She is our star!"  
"Lolita is meant to be a fifteen year-old virgin Firmin! I think we may be asking a little too much of the audience if we ask them to ignore the fact that our 'virgin' is in fact six months pregnant. Anyhow, it is simply not safe for her to exert herself to that extent! Opera is physical work, not matter how effortless she makes it look! No Firmin. I am putting my foot down. Either we find another leading lady, or we shall have to wait until Mme Chagney returns five months after the birth."  
"Very well." sighed Firmin, resigning himself to his partners determination. I shall post audition calls immediately."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Excitement filled the Opera Populaire, as aspiring soprano's hopefully trilled and scaled throughout its vast corridors and vaulting dressing rooms. Marianne longed to play the part of Lolita with all her heart, but knew that her fear of singing in front of others would not allow her to. As she heard the hopefuls singing the wonderful songs composed by the mysterious conductor, she physically ached with desire to sing, to make the talent she felt sure she had, known. Despite her knowledge of her musical ability however, she was sure she would be laughed at if she expressed her wish to anybody. Her voice was surely not powerful enough! And Lolita was supposed to be a beauty! How could a Marianne be a believable Lolita, when the audience were used to the magnificence and charm of Christine Daae. It was hopeless. Utterly hopeless. Sometimes, in the dead of night, after her solitary dance practises were over, she crept silently onto the stage, where she knew she could not be heard from any of the dormitories, and lifted her voice, imagining herself on stage, adorned with glittering jewels and moving her audience to tears. When she opened her eyes; when her song was finished and she returned to her own body, she often wept bitter tears that the thing she longed for with every fibre of her being could never be. Her own fear stopped her. Even in the silent Opera House, she was physically unable to truly revel in song, as she so wished to.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

One night, after a particularly gruelling night of practise, Marianne slumped, exhaustion filling her, onto her beloved stage. She caressed its polished boards, trodden for so many years by Don Juan, the Queen of the Night, Turandot and Giselle. Without warning, a nauseating wave of loneliness and sadness swept over her, engulfing her as a wave does a pebble. Memories of her father, her mother tore though her mind; forcing scalding tears to fall from her eyes, silently and desperately. Without relinquishing her recumbent posture at centre-stage, she began to sing the requiem she had planned to sing at the funeral. The sharply rendered images of lost times and abandoned hopes gave her song an added poignancy. This time she was not singing to please herself; was not imagining herself to be somebody she was not. The song rose from her very depths, filling the darkened stage with a strange and beautiful music, almost of another world in its ethereal and angelic quality. Without effort she transcended her lack of beauty, her mediocrity as a dancer, and appeared as she truly was. She was a singer.

As the requiem distended to meet its final moments, a shape moved in the shadows of the upper circle. Marianne's concluding phrase was cut short by a spasm of utter terror. Someone was watching her! Someone was up there! It was probably another one of the dancers, coming to look for her when they noticed she was not in the dormitory. They were surely laughing at her pathetic self-pity. She wanted to weep in frustrated anger and embarrassment.  
"Who is that? If you've come to laugh at me you can just go!"  
Silence.  
"I mean it. Who is there? How dare you eavesdrop on me!"  
Silence.  
Her righteous anger began to be marred by fear. She had been at the Opera Populaire long enough to have heard many stories about the spirits which were said to haunt its catacombs. Rumours of ghosts were always bandied about by stage-hands who wished to impress the prettiest dancers. There was even a story of a phantom of the opera who some claimed had kidnapped the Primma Donna herself, who had taught her to sing! While not a fanciful girl, Marianne was far too young, and too vulnerable not to feel a prickle of fear and trepidation as she stared up into the dark circle.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

"Please" begged Marianne, tearful now. She felt so violated by this intruder. Whoever it was had calmly watched her as she laid bare her deepest and most secret emotions. It was almost as it they had looked into her soul.

Eventually, she heard rustling and a voice spoke to her:  
"Forgive my child. I did not mean to startle you. I was roaming the Opera House as I often do, and I stumbled upon you singing. I would not, of course, have listened, but your voice stirred something in me. You sing..." The voice trailed off, but before it did she noted its melodious and strangely resonant quality.   
"Who...who are you?" she asked haltingly.  
"My name is not important. I am a composer. I write music for the Opera." A further rustle signalled to Marianne that he was leaving. She called to him:  
"Wait! Sir, wait! You are not...you are not Monsieur Taphmon by any chance?"  
The figure paused and then replied,  
"I am he."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Marianne's breath caught in her throat. This was the man who had written such music! She felt privileged and intimidated to be in the presence of such a talent.  
"It is an honour sir. Of course, I know your work."  
"Thank you" he replied, briefly." Are you planning to audition for the part of Lolita?" She coloured violently.  
"No! Of course not. I can't - I - I am no Christine Daae."  
The words seemed to hang in the air like the sound of a pistol. After what seemed like an eternity, the man she now knew to be the composer spoke again.  
"Oh Christine" he sighed, half out loud and half to himself. He then continued aloud, "The part of Lolita was meant for her. It was written in her honour."  
"Do you know her then Monsieur?" she inquired, in a whisper. She realised it was an impertinent question for a small-time dancer to ask to this enigmatic musical genius but the soft yet forceful sorrow which pulsed through his soft voice emboldened her, and piqued her curiosity.  
"We...have met, indeed. But it has been many months since we last spoke. However, the memory of her voice acted as my muse in the composition of this Opera. It saddens me to think that she will not be the first woman to play its heroine."  
"I imagine that you will be given the task of finding another Lolita then, since you are the composer" she suggested. He laughed derisively.  
"I doubt it. The managers and I have not met, but I feel sure that if we did, they would not be willing for my work to be performed in their establishment."

Although she burned to know more, Marianne perceived a dangerous note in the laugh which echoed around the hall, so plush and luxuriant by candle-light, so haunting and desolate in darkness.  
"I must leave sir. I will be missed by the ballet mistress," she faltered.  
"Very well. But, I must ask you to grant me a favour."  
"Certainly" she replied, but not without another thrill of foreboding.  
"I want you to audition for the part of Lolita. I want you to play it."   
"But sir! I have had no coaching! I cannot sing the part! I simply cannot! Please do not ask me to!"  
"I am sorry. I have no right to ask you to do this. But I know that you can become Lolita. I heard it in your voice...I heard..." Although his words trailed off she knew what he wanted to say. She knew because she remembered the way she had felt when she had first heard his music. In his Opera she had heard the expression of her own sorrow, and she felt instinctively that in her voice, in her song of despair, he had heard his own.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

The day of the auditions dawned. The Musical Director of the Opera Populaire, a pompous man with a face which resembled a withered monkey, seated himself beside the Opera's managers. He loathed the two men, who he regarded as commoners, unsuited to the management of a company of such celebrity. Nonetheless, they were rich and easily led in matters of artistic direction. Firmin and Andre, while certainly not refined, were good natured and kindly, and they saw that their Director was not. The three men were however, forced to work together in the daily running of the theatre. Also present were Raoul De Chagney and, of course, Christine Daae, the departing soprano. Her good judgment would be invaluable in deciding who was to be her replacement.

The afternoon was spent listening to sopranos: some old, some young, some talented and some not. None of them however was suitable to play Lolita.  
"For God's sake!" spat the director, "This is getting us nowhere."  
"There are still two more girls to see" proffered the ever hopeful Firmin  
"But neither of them looks hopeful" interjected Andre. "One is already a member of the company; a dancer. The other is unknown to me, but gives her name as Anne-Marie."  
"Very well" called Raoul, anxious to preserve the peace, already fearing that the auditions may render his wife fatigued, "Send in the first girl."

Her name was Isabella and for the past year she had slept in the bed next to Marianne. She was sweet and gentle, and widely acknowledged as the best dancer in the ballet. When she stepped onto the stage, her slender frame and pretty face immediately charmed the judges.  
"Bonjour" she said quietly, dropping into a low and graceful curtsy, borne of her long years of ballet training. "I would like to sing an aria from Hannibal, named "Think of Me."

Her rendition of the aria which Christine Daae herself had made famous was, like her appearance, utterly charming. She reached the high notes with ease and the dramatic scale which concluded the song was executed with care and gusto. She seemed ideal for the part. Although she lacked the darkness of the Patron's wife, which had seemed to make her so perfect for the role, she would bring a sweetness to the role which, as Firmin said, "would sell!"


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

A stage hand entered the corridor where Marianne, disguised with a cloak and a wig, waited nervously to be heard. The last few weeks had had a dreamlike quality about them which confused her. The gentle voice of the composer she had met with that night on the stage had seemed to follow her. What had once been her late night ballet rehearsals had become instructions in vocal technique. Although she remembered little of her encounters with her tutor, what she did remember filled her with joy. He had made her sing as she never thought she could. He has turned her voice from simply beautiful into one beyond belief. She had become increasingly certain that this teacher; this composer was no ordinary man, if indeed he was a man at all. He had a presence so certain, so dominating, that he could be no ghost, and yet no man could possibly reach into her soul as he had done. She knew not what he was, but she knew that only he could make her song ascend to the heights she had experienced under his guidance.  
"Is it time for me?" she asked, jumping out of her seat, thoughts of men and angels unwillingly dispelled.  
"No" he replied shortly, hardly bothering to look at her. "The position has been filled. Please leave."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

The words reverberated in her ears like a death march. The position had been filled. Her dream was over. A numbness began to flood her from head to toe. She had not even had the chance to sing. She had always felt that the place of Primma Donna was beyond her reach, but Taphmon; her angel of music, had convinced her that she was not only capable of the position, but deserved it. She had worked so hard under his tutelage, gone without sleep and much needed dance practice, and all for nothing. She cast her cloak and wig into the arms of the stage-hand and fled towards the principal dressing room which she knew would be empty. She flung herself down before the towering guilt mirror which adorned the room, and tried to cry. No tears would come. In desperation, she called out, praying that somewhere in the gloom, she would be heard.  
"Master" she whispered, her voice sated with the misery she felt. "Master, are you there?" Only cruel silence met her ears. "They wouldn't even listen to me! They wouldn't even hear me sing. They gave the part to another girl before they even saw me."  
As if prompted by these words, she heard an answer, echoing quietly through the room, comforting and soothing the distraught young girl.  
"Fear not Marianne. You're time will come. The world shall know of your gift"   
"NO!" she retorted, irrationally angry at the being who had inspired such hope in her. "That's not true! No one will ever know me as anybody but Marianne, the fat, orphaned, talentless dancer." Marianne knew in her heart that it was not her master's fault that she had been shunned from the audition, but it had been he who had aroused in her, for the first time since her parents' death, dreams of anything or anyone but sorrow, pain and her lost family. Now that those dreams had been shattered, she wished that she had never had them at all.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

The Phantom, for of course, that is who Marianne's mysterious teacher was, gazed through the mirror at his youthful protégée. The last few weeks had awoken feelings in him which he thought had died forever. On the night that he had first heard her sing; the night so fateful for the young dancer, he had been stalking the Opera house, desolate at the prospect of Christine's pregnancy, and miserable at the fact that the opera he had written for her, in secret, would have another woman playing the leading role. He knew that there was nothing he could do. None of the company knew that it was he, the infamous phantom, that was the composer whose work they admired so. There was no way he could alter the performance's timing, thus allowing Christine to play the part he meant for her, without revealing his continued inhabitance of the catacombs beneath the theatre. Pacing the stalls and the circle morosely, he had heard shuffling footsteps on the stage. He had started, and looked up to see a young girl, of no more than seventeen years old, collapse with apparent exhaustion. Absorbed as he was in his own sorrow, the phantom could not see a girl so young and vulnerable in this state without feeling a wave of concern. Making his way quietly towards the door, which would lead him out of the dress circle, and nearer to the stage a sound had halted his footsteps. It was a sound such as he had never heard before: A song; a requiem, but one which spoke of such destitution and sadness that even in he, who had been forced to bear so much sorrow in his life, it drew tears. Her voice spoke to him of a kindred spirit and of a soul which understood his own. Even when his love and obsession with Christine had been in its most fiercesome depths, the music she had made had not conveyed and understanding such as this. Her voice had induced in him wonder, admiration and love, but the voice of this girl - only just leaving childhood - evoked something more.

The Phantom had imagined that this girl, Marianne, would temporarily fill the desire for beauty which Christine's temporary absence from the Opera House would create. As her lessons continued, however, and her soulful voice grew ever stronger in its intensity and sublime beauty, he found himself thinking of his Christine less and less. As he wondered the theatre after hours now, his mind was more want to be filled with dreams of his new pupil than his old. This surprising change frightened the phantom. He cursed himself for being inconstant, and for clouding his mind once again with dreams which had deceived him once before. He had tried repeatedly to detach himself from his ingénue, and yet whenever she began to sing, or gazed up to him with her arresting yet gentle eyes, hoping to catch a glimpse of her great tutor, he felt helpless to resist the feelings towards her which grew increasingly acute.

As he watched his Marianne through the mirror, weeping with disappointment and misdirected anger, he suddenly felt a white-hot anger burning inside him. How could they not allow his angel, his little ingénue to sing for them? This girl who had got the part was nobody! A charming little dancer, with a future in opera she may be, but the phantom knew that she was not fit to play his beloved Lolita. This opera was his magnum opus. He could never write another like it, for his very soul was woven through its music. Christine had been snatched from the part, by his one-time rival, Raoul and their baby, and now the gods were trying to steal the role from the only other person on earth that he knew would sing it as it was meant to be sung. He had to do something, anything, to put Marianne in that part.


End file.
